


Draco's Trial

by emeraldsage85



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-28
Updated: 2015-09-28
Packaged: 2018-04-23 18:42:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4887694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emeraldsage85/pseuds/emeraldsage85
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the war Draco faces a lifetime of imprisonment due to his family's association with Voldemort. This is the story of his trial.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Draco's Trial

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize for posting this whole thing in one document. I couldn't find a good place to break it up into chapters because it was sort of written all at once. Please forgive me!

Being on the wrong side of the war doesn’t just ruin Draco’s childhood; it nearly destroys his adult life as well. Both of his parents are now publicly named Death Eaters on the run from the Aurors. They flee the country and go into hiding in their desperation to avoid Azkaban. Even with Narcissa concealing Harry Potter’s survival of the killing curse, they are likely to be taken in and put on trial for their earlier transgressions. The wizarding world has little sympathy these days for anyone who was close to the Dark Lord.

Narcissa begs Draco to go with them but he refuses. The Malfoys are already known as cowards and he wants no part of it. He’s of age now and there’s nothing his parents can do. Draco turns himself in to the Ministry of Magic and goes quietly when they demand that he submit for questioning.

Draco tells them everything that happened. He leaves nothing out, even when he becomes tired and hoarse from answering the same questions over and over again. At the end of it all he is shipped off to Azkaban to await trial. The prison is exactly as described by Aunt Bellatrix: dirty, cold, and damp with rats scurrying along the walls. The prisoners wear dingy gray and black striped robes. They remain confined to their cells twenty-three hours a day with only the guards and the dementors for company. 

Draco occasionally sees prisoners he recognizes: McNair, Dolohov, Nott, Crabbe, Goyle… They were all friends of his father at one point. He grew up with them visiting his home, played with their children, even thought of some of them as surrogate uncles. Now they all look sad and defeated in this dreary place, shuffling along in irons together. Draco speaks to none of them, biding his time alone until the date of his trial. If he is to be released he needs to distance himself from them all.

Time passes agonizingly slowly without anyone to speak to but Draco remains steadfast during his incarceration. It takes eight months. The courts are seeing a backlog of criminal trials like never before and they can’t keep up.

Finally the day comes. Draco thought he would feel relief but now his only emotion is dread. Why should the court listen to him? What makes him think that he will be shown any sort of mercy? Nearly all of the Death Eaters who have gone to trial have received life sentences. Draco expects the same.

The guards fetch him, escort him to the Ministry, and place him in the holding area below the court rooms. Draco doesn’t resist when one of the guards kicks him violently onto the platform. It’s pointless to struggle.

And then finally it’s time. It’s now or never, the last time he might be anywhere outside of Azkaban again. The platform rises and suddenly he’s in the middle of the court room, trapped in a rusty cage with sharp spikes aimed directly at his head. 

The head of the department of Magical Law Enforcement, Chief Justice Orion Quigg is presiding over the trial. Members of the Wizengamot flank him as they begin to take their seats on the benches. Spectators filter in and position themselves in the gallery. In the far reaches Draco can make out two people who are as familiar to him as his own parents: Potter and Weasley. Weasley catches him looking and then leans over to whisper something to his companion. They both laugh and Draco feels the familiar rage building somewhere in his chest. He turns his head away, refusing to meet their accusing eyes. Now is not the time for such childish rivalries to be allowed to surface.

Orion Quigg raps his gavel smartly and a hush falls over the courtroom. 

“Draco Lucius Malfoy, you have been brought forth today before the Wizengamot on charges befitting a known Death Eater. The list is as follows. 

Charge one: one count of knowingly with malice and aforethought, combining with others to support the most bloody, abominable and beastly cause of the notorious, prescribed and avowed traitor known as Lord Voldemort.

Charge two: one count of voluntarily accepting membership within a prescribed and illegal organization, termed "the Death Eaters".

Charge three: one count of conspiracy to commit to murder. 

Charge four: two counts of aggravated assault resulting in the bodily harm of a witch or wizard through magical means.

How do you plead, Mr. Malfoy?”

“Not guilty,” Draco says.

The courtroom breaks into whispers and Draco can see the condemnation in their faces. In the spectator’s gallery Potter and Weasley stare at him with twin expressions of contempt. 

“Silence!” Quigg bellows as he bangs his gavel repeatedly. 

Draco stares at his feet and shuffles a bit. He feels ashamed about pleading not guilty but he can’t even fathom pleading the opposite. 

“The accused will now submit to questioning,” Quigg says.

Draco takes a deep breath. This is it, the moment he’s been thinking about all those months in Azkaban and preparing for.

“Mr Malfoy, you will answer all questions for the Wizengamot. Do you solemnly swear or affirm that you will tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, under pains and penalties of perjury?”

“Yes sir,” Draco says.

“Good. Mr. Malfoy, do you admit that you and your family allied yourselves with Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters during the war?”

“Yes sir,” Draco says.

“And do you admit to accepting the Dark Mark as part of your initiation to said group?” Quigg asks.

“Yes sir.”

“Do you admit that you did so freely and willingly of your own accord?”

“No sir,” Draco says.

He can hear whispering around the court room yet again but he keeps his eyes trained firmly on the Wizengamot in front of him. Thankfully Quigg is quick to bang his gavel and orders everyone to be quiet once more.

“Please explain for the court in which manner you were coerced,” he demands.

“My parents were in league with Voldemort before I was born. When they had me they indoctrinated me with the idea that pureblood wizards were superior so I grew up believing that all muggle-borns were scum. My parents associated only with fellow Death Eaters and their families. It was always a given that I would join. When I was sixteen I taken for initiation by my father and my uncle, Rodolphus Lestrange. That night I met Voldemort for the first time. He told me that I would do nicely and he was proud to have the child of Lucius Malfoy among his ranks. Then he asked me to do something I never wanted to do. They brought out a muggle child, a little boy who was maybe two or three years old. He was screaming and they made me watch as Voldemort as murdered him in cold blood and fed him to that dirty snake of his. After that they branded me with the Dark Mark. They congratulated me on joining like it was some sort of accomplishment. They didn’t even care about the kid they’d just killed.” 

Draco doesn’t mean to get emotional but he feels his throat tightening at the thought of the boy’s murder and his voice comes out choked. It’s not facts to him, as it is to the court. He can still see it sometimes when he closes his eyes, when he dreams at night of the shouted “Avada Kedavra!” and the burst of green light that brought about the child’s demise at such a tender young age.

“If you had refused, what would have happened?” Quigg asks.

“Voldemort would have tortured and murdered my entire family,” Draco says.

“I see,” Quigg says without a trace of emotion. “Mr. Malfoy, do you admit to accepting a ‘mission’ from Lord Voldemort, involving the murder of one Albus Dumbledore?”

“Yes sir,” Draco says.

“And did you knowingly attempt to carry out this mission?”

“Yes, but I had no choice,” Draco says hastily. 

He needs them to know that he didn’t want to. They can’t see how it haunts him still to think about Dumbledore and the vile manner in which he died.

“Can you please explain what that mission entailed?” 

Draco swallows hard but he summons the courage to carry on.

“Voldemort ordered me to murder Dumbledore. I don’t know why he chose me and I really wanted no part of it but you don’t say no to him, not ever. I was to kill Dumbledore before the end of the school year,” he says.

“Did you or did you not bring about harm to a Miss Katie Bell and a Mr. Ronald Weasley as part of your attempts at assassination?” Quigg asks.

“I did but they were both accidents,” Draco says desperately.

“It seems that your use of the Imperius Curse on Miss Bell was no accident,” Quigg intones, peering over his glasses at Draco.

“I only meant for her to deliver that cursed necklace to Dumbledore’s office. I thought if I used the Imperius Curse on her I could let her go and she wouldn’t remember a thing. Dumbledore would see the necklace and know what it was instantly. It would look like I tried but no one would get hurt. I didn’t count on her being strong enough to resist the curse long enough to open the wrapping and touch the necklace. She was lucky that someone was there when it happened.”

“And what about the poisoning of Mr. Weasley with wine?” Quigg demands.

“I went to Professor Slughorn for some help with my anti-paralysis potion. He had a bottle of wine sitting on his desk with a tag that said it was for Professor Dumbledore and I took the opportunity. While Slughorn’s back was turned, I added bloodroot poison. It’s easily detectable by the way it smells. Dumbledore wouldn’t be able to miss it if he poured himself a glass. I had no idea Slughorn was going to share it with anyone else,” Draco says.

“And you just happened to have bloodroot poison in your possession?” Quigg says with an air of disbelief.

“It was for class. Professor Sprout asked us to bring two vials of it to Herbology for our lesson on Snarfalump plants. They’re resistant to poison of any sort. We only ended up needing one vial for the experiment so she asked us to turn in our extras. I kept mine,” Draco explains.

“Well it’s a pity Professor Sprout isn’t on our witness list today,” Quigg says.

This is not going well at all, Draco decides. He’s heard rumours about Quigg’s distaste for Death Eaters and it seems that they’re all true. He tries to comfort himself with the idea that he’s at least getting a trial but fails miserably.

“Moving on then, Mr. Malfoy you were involved in the attack on Albus Dumbledore the night he died. Is that correct?”

“Yes sir,” Draco says.

“How is it that five Death Eaters, including you, were able to infiltrate Hogwarts without being detected?” 

“There’s a vanishing cabinet in the Room of Requirement and-“

“The room of what?” Quigg interrupts.

“The Room of Requirement. It’s a secret room on the seventh floor behind the tapestry of Barnabus the Barmy. When someone has need of a room and they walk past it three times while thinking about what they want, it appears. The room becomes exactly what that person needs. For instance, if you were desperately in need of the loo it would become one. Its default setting is a storage room for random bits of junk though,” Draco says.

When he pauses for breath Quigg arches an eyebrow, silently imploring him to continue.

“There was a vanishing cabinet in there but it was broken. It took me nearly a year to mend it. The sister cabinet is at Borgin and Burkes. The Death Eaters entered the cabinet in the shop and came out through the one in the Room of Requirement. They used a concealment charm so no one would recognize their faces. I found Dumbledore on the astronomy tower and they were able to cast a tracking spell to find me. Aunt Bellatrix encouraged me to kill him but… I couldn’t. I just couldn’t… I’ve never hurt anyone before, I swear. I never wanted to so I only disarmed him instead.”

“Who was it that murdered Albus Dumbledore that night?” Quigg asks.

“Severus Snape,” Draco says.

“And Severus Snape is conveniently dead,” Quigg says haughtily.

One of the members of the Wizengamot raises her hand.

“Yes, Madam Gilliflower?”

The exasperation is evident in Quigg’s tone but Madam Gilliflower seems unperturbed.

“We do have a witness registered for the defense who was present that night. He’s willing to testify,” she points out.

“Yes, very well then. Will the witness for the defense come forward?”

The court room descends into furious murmuring as Harry Potter stands up and makes his way down to the main floor. Shock twists through Draco’s body like a knife in his gut and he’s sure that it shows on his face. Potter sits down in the witness chair and shoots him a smug look. 

“Harry James Potter, do you solemnly swear or affirm that you will tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, under pains and penalties of perjury?”

“I do,” Harry says.

“Can you describe for us the events on the night Albus Dumbledore was murdered?” Quigg says.

“We had just arrived back from hunting down a horcrux. Dumbledore was ill and he was very weak. I wanted to get Madam Pomfrey but he asked me to find Snape.”

“You did not object to him not being treated by the school’s own trained medi-staff?” Quigg interjects.

“No. That night he made me swear that I would obey him, no matter what the cost, and I did.”

“Continue,” Quigg prompts.

“I was about to find Snape when we heard someone coming. Dumbledore ordered me to go below the observation deck and keep quiet,” Harry says.

“Was Mr. Malfoy among them?”

“He was.”

“Did Mr. Malfoy in any way harm Albus Dumbledore?”

“No. He only disarmed Dumbledore. Draco wouldn’t have done it; he was lowering his wand. Snape killed Dumbledore. They had an agreement,” Harry says.

The expression on Quigg’s face changes to one of seething anger. Draco can see that this trial is not unfolding the way he wants it to. Clearly he had his heart set on a speedy conviction before Harry’s story raised more questions.

“What sort of agreement?” Quigg demands.

“Dumbledore was being slowly killed by a curse from one of the horcruxes he destroyed. It was Voldemort’s mother’s ring. Snape was able to contain the curse to his hand but he knew he was dying and he knew that Voldemort wanted Draco to kill him. He asked that Snape be the one to do it because Draco was unlikely to succeed,” Harry says.

Draco feels his breath catch in his throat at this admission. Dumbledore knew all along? 

“Who told you this? Was it Dumbledore himself?” Quigg barks.

“No. When Snape was dying he asked me to take his memories to the pensieve in Dumbledore’s office. I have them right here if you want to see them,” Harry says as he reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a vial. 

“Be that as it may, these memories were not entered into evidence prior to the start of the trial. We simply cannot accept them,” Quigg says.

Draco can see a large vein sticking out in the middle of Quigg’s forehead as he clearly fumes inside at the loss of his open-and-shut case. Once again one of the Wizengamot raises a hand. This time it’s a short bearded wizard sitting near the back. He has to stand up and nearly shout to be heard.

“Yes, Mr. Gaunt?”

“Section twelve, subsection two A of the Wizengamot Manual of Law clearly states that any evidence presented at trial may be entered if a minimum of twelve entrance votes are received,” Gaunt recites.

Quigg sighs before turning to the members of the Wizengamot.

“All right, we’ll put it to a vote. Those in favour of entering the evidence brought forth by Harry Potter?”

Draco waits with baited breath to see what the outcome is. To his relief, three quarters of the Wizengamot raise their hands.

“Very well, then. The court will take a twenty minute recess while the members of the Wizengamot review the evidence. Mr. Potter, if you please?” 

Harry reluctantly hands over the vial.

“I want that back,” he says firmly.

“You’ll get it after the trial. Guards, remove the prisoner, please.”

The guards lower the platform and Draco is taken back to the bowels of the courtrooms once more. He’s grateful for the reprieve, even if it is a short one. It feels like he’s been under scrutiny for hours; his legs ache, he’s sweating, and his throat feels parched.

“Hey, any chance I could get some water?” Draco asks. 

The guards steadfastly ignore him and Draco takes that as a no. He sits down heavily on the platform. It’s not looking very good and even with Potter’s testimony he’s likely to be convicted on all charges. At this point the only thing they’ve established is that Draco’s telling the truth about his involvement but that doesn’t negate what he’s done. 

None of the members of the Wizengamot can possibly understand just how horrible it was to be in Voldemort’s inner circle. The muggles they murdered, the death of Professor Burbage right before his eyes, the constant threat to always play along or be done away with himself; it all flashes before his eyes night after night, keeping him awake into the early hours. 

Draco idly wonders how his father sleeps at night. Lucius has done far worse things long before his son was ever born and continues to do them even now while seeming to avoid the consequences. Surely he must feel the horrors of his actions?

“Hey, you, get up!” 

A sharp kick to Draco’s feet startles him out of his thoughts. He stands up and the guard pulls the lever to raise the platform again. In seconds he’s back in the cage facing a full courtroom again. The Wizengamot is in place with Quigg perched at the head staring down at Draco in his best intimidation attempt. The courtroom is silent.

“Let the record state that the Wizengamot has viewed the memories of one Severus Snape, deceased. It has been found that these memories corroborate both Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Potter’s testimony regarding the Death of Albus Dumbledore, The questioning will now recommence,” Quigg drones. 

Draco takes a deep breath and steels himself for round two.

“Mr. Malfoy after the battle at Hogwarts your family was not seen. Where did you go?”

“Home,” Draco says. “We went home and my parents packed their things. They knew what was going to happen.”

“And where are they now?” 

“I’m not sure, sir,” Draco says and he’s telling the truth. 

“How very convenient. Mr. Malfoy, you do know that anyone found to be harbouring or protecting the known whereabouts of Death Eaters will be charged in a court of law, right?”

“Yes sir. We own a beach house on the Isle of Wight and a separate home just outside of London that used to belong to my grandparents. I doubt they’ll be there. My father has a lot of high ranking contacts who will be willing to hide them,” Draco says.

“No doubt you’ll be providing that list for the court at a later date,” Quigg presses him. 

Draco feels his face begin to colour as the creeping sensation of shame spreads through his chest. He never wanted to give up his parents, not in exchange for his own freedom. He knows that his mother and father are smart though and he has given very little away just yet. The Aurors will have already searched all properties thoroughly and found nothing. Quigg seems to think his silence is acquiescence and moves on to another line of questioning.

“Is it true that you turned yourself in?” he asks.

“Yes sir,” Draco says.

Quigg leans forward, peering over his glasses with a look of bemusement and says, “Why?”

“It was the right thing to do,” Draco says simply.

He hears the hushed murmurs of the court room once more, no doubt quietly judging him on their perceptions of “doing the right thing”. He keeps his eyes down to block out the looks of condemnation he’s getting from the spectator’s gallery.

“Mr. Malfoy, before the Wizengamot begins deliberation do you have anything else to add to your testimony?” Quigg asks.

For a second Draco ponders adding in how sorry he is, how he knows his actions were all wrong, even if they were forced, and how much he’s changed since the end of the war. He can’t bring himself to say it. The trial has gone on too long. He’s too tired, too cramped in the small cage, and too thirsty. He doesn’t even care what happens now, he just wants to leave the courtroom and never return.

“No sir,” he says.

“Very well. The prisoner will be removed during deliberation and will return for sentencing. The Wizengamot will adjourn to chambers,” Quigg announces. 

Below the courtrooms Draco sits down on the platform again and wipes the sweat from his brow with the dirty sleeve of his prison robes. He knows he looks awful. It probably gave Potter and Weasley a laugh to see him stripped of his former fastidiousness, not that it matters now. Nothing matters, really, except the rest of his life hanging in the balance. Draco tries not to think about spending the rest of his life in Azkaban.

The deliberations of the Wizengamot take a very long time. Draco waits for what feels like hours but can’t be as long as he thinks. He tries asking for the time but the guards ignore him again. For a brief moment he allows himself to have a glimmer of hope; surely if it’s taking this long there’s a chance he’ll be exonerated. After all, if it were a unanimous guilty verdict he’d have been sentenced by now. 

“Get up,” one of the guards says. 

Draco scrambles to obey and he is brought up to the cage in the courtroom for a third time. The Wizengamot is just filing in and taking their seats. As soon as everyone is settled, Quigg bangs his gavel and announces that court is back in session.

“Let the record show that after two hours of deliberation the Wizengamot has reached a verdict. Would the foreman for this session please step forward?”

Madam Gilliflower rises from her seat with a piece of parchment clutched in her hand.

“Madam Gillflower, in the case of Draco Lucius Malfoy, how does the Wizengamot find the defendant?” Quigg asks.

“On the count of knowingly with malice and aforethought, combining with others to support the most bloody, abominable and beastly cause of the notorious, prescribed and avowed traitor known as Lord Voldemort, we find the defendant guilty.

On the count of voluntarily accepting membership within a prescribed and illegal organization, termed the ‘Death Eaters’, we find the defendant guilty. 

On the count of conspiracy to commit to murder we find the defendant guilty.

On the two counts of aggravated assault resulting in the bodily harm of a witch or wizard through magical means, we find the defendant guilty,” Madam Gillflower reads.

Draco feels like his stomach has dropped into his knees and his heart beats like the wings of a billywig. The courtroom is awash with excited reactions from the assembled visitors but he doesn’t hear them. It’s all just noise now. Even the sound of Quigg banging his gavel and calling for order barely registers. Draco wishes he had enough space to sink to his knees because he doesn’t know how much longer he’ll be able to stand. 

“Very well then, sentencing will commence immediately,” Quigg says once the courtroom is quiet. 

Before he can begin, Madam Gilliflower says, “The Wizengamot would like to make a motion to recommend sentencing for Mr. Malfoy.” 

Quigg narrows his eyes suspiciously as he regards her with contempt.

“And what might that be?”

“Your honour, given that Mr. Malfoy was under age at the time and there is some evidence of coercion in his behaviour, the Wizengamot would like suggest he be sentenced to time served. Might I remind you of subsection 4c, paragraph 8 of the Wizengamot Manual of Law – the underage provision?” Madam Gilliflower says.

“Duly noted. I’m well aware of it,” Quigg sighs. “Do we have quorum for that motion?”

“Yes your honour.”

Quigg sighs and regards Draco as though he the most distasteful person in existence.

“Very well. Following the recommendations of the Wizengamot, Mr. Malfoy you are hereby sentenced to time served as you have been convicted of all charges. Guards, you will escort Mr. Malfoy from the courtroom. The Wizengamot is now adjourned.”

He raps his gavel in quick succession. As both the members of the Wizengamot and the general public begin to leave, the noise reaches deafening levels in the court room. For a moment, Draco is left standing there as he watches people gather their things and depart. Then the platform lowers for the last time.

“Come with me,” one of the guards says.

Draco follows him back the way they came in and up to the main floor of the court rooms. 

“The elevator’s straight down the hall. Floo’s available on the first floor at the main entrance. Apparation points and port keys are second floor, rooms 211 and 311,” the guard says in a bored tone of voice before walking away.

Draco doesn’t say thank-you. He can’t bring himself to after being kicked earlier by one of their ilk. He notices that as people filter out of the court room, most are staring at him. Then he hears his name being called.

“Draco! Draco Malfoy! Do you have any comments on your sentencing today? How do you feel about being a considered a convicted Death Eater? What will you do now that you’re free?”

Draco’s head snaps up in time to see a throng of reporters pushing their way to him, led by none other than Rita Skeeter, who seems desperate to reach him. 

“No comment!” Draco shouts. 

He has to get away or he’s going to be mobbed. Panicked, Draco runs down the hallway and frantically stabs the button for the nearest elevator. The lift rises painfully slowly and he expresses his frustration with several curse words.

Then someone says, “In here,” and drags him into the nearest vacant room. 

“Potter,” Draco says with relief evident in his eyes.

Potter manually locks the door and uses the colloportus spell for good measure.

“There’s a way out through here. Just use the back door and you can go down the stairwell to get to the second floor. Hope you like apparating,” Potter says.

He leads Draco to the door behind the benches and they make their escape.

“You know Malfoy, at some point you’re going to have to start rescuing yourself,” Potter jokes.

Draco finds himself bristling at that, even though he knows it’s just meant to poke a little fun at him.

“I was doing fine on my own,” he retorts.

“Because waiting for the lift is a really good way to get away from a mob of reporters,” Potter says sarcastically.

Draco doesn’t say anything for a moment as they climb the stairs. Then he decides to address the elephant in the room.

“Why did you testify? You could have easily hung me out to dry.”

“Your family,” Harry says. “You could have sold me out to Voldemort and yet you didn’t.”

“My father would have,” Draco says.

“Fine, you and your mother didn’t hand me over. Why didn’t you tell Bellatrix it was me?”

Draco shrugs.

“I didn’t want to,” he says. 

“Why not?” Harry asks and Draco feels anger bubbling up inside of him again.

“Why not? Because I didn’t want to be responsible for yet another person’s death,” he spits. 

“You think you’re the only one responsible for deaths? Look again,” Harry says evenly.

As they round the stairwell to the second floor, Draco snaps, “You have no idea what it was like.”

“I’m sure it must be so horrible to have Mummy and Daddy give you everything you ever wanted,” Harry mutters.

Draco can’t stop this time. He shoves Potter against the wall with both hands around the man’s throat, squeezing tightly. In the corner of his mind he realizes that he must be running on adrenaline. All those months in Azkaban did him no favours as far as physical strength.

“You have no idea. No idea! All those nice things you think I have, well they came with a price and that was being a Death Eater. I did terrible things because I thought I had to. They would have killed me,” he snarls.

Potter extracts his hands and shoves Draco, throwing him backwards against the far wall of the stairwell where he nearly tumbles down the staircase. He just manages to catch the railing in time. 

“You should have let them,” he says breathlessly. 

He continues up the stairs at a jog and slams the door, leaving Draco on his backside in the stairwell. For a moments he remains there, too stunned to move. Then he realizes that he had better move before Rita Skeeter tries to find him again. He needs to get out of the Ministry.

When he reaches his destination both rooms have a line but Draco doesn’t recognize anyone from the court room and Potter is nowhere in sight. He’s able to wait his turn with minimal impact although he does catch a few people in line for the next room over glaring at him. It must be the prison robes, he thinks. Once his turn arrives, he steps inside of the room and closes the door. It’s little bigger than a closet but he doesn’t care. Finally he’ll be going home. He closes his eyes and apparates with a loud crack.

Malfoy Manor is much the way Draco remembers. The house elves have kept it in good shape over the months he was gone. While standing in the middle of the great room, Draco is overcome with emotion. It could have gone so wrong. He could have never seen his childhood home again, instead living the rest of his life in Azkaban with the all of the other convicted Death Eaters. He drops to his knees on the marble floor and sobs until he no longer has any tears left to cry. 

19 Years Later

Draco stands on Platform 9 ¾ with his lovely wife and son. It’s Scorpius’ first time leaving for Hogwarts and he can’t help but feel a bit emotional. Astoria is worse. She keeps hugging the poor boy and complaining that she doesn’t want him to go, much to his embarrassment. 

“I’ll be fine mum, really,” he says.

Draco happens to cast a glance over at the other end of the platform and catches sight of Potter with his wife (dear god, he married Weasley’s sister!) and their three children. The two of them share a curt nod before Draco turns back to his own family. Astoria is wiping tears from her eyes.

“You make sure you write once a week. I want to know that you’re all right,” she says.

Scorpius rolls his eyes.

“Yes mum,” he says in a bored tone of voice. 

“C’mon then, let’s you get on the train,” Draco says.

He puts a hand on son’s shoulder a guides him towards the Hogwarts Express.


End file.
